


Clintasha Advent Calendar

by zombie_socks



Series: Clintasha Advent Calendars [1]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Hawkeye (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drabbles, prompt collection, see notes for details, un-betaed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:57:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 15,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8721574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombie_socks/pseuds/zombie_socks
Summary: Collection of drabbles for the Clintasha Advent Calendar event on Tumblr.





	1. December 1: Firsts

**Author's Note:**

> Hello,  
> Currently on Tumblr there is a Clintasha Advent Calendar event happening until December 25. So I've made it my goal to post a drabble every day - we'll see how this goes.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Natasha share their first kiss... kinda.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 1 of the Clintasha Advent Calendar event.

She’d only been at SHIELD for a less than a year when they gave her her first mission. The catch was her “partner” was assigned to it was well. It wasn’t that Barton was incompetent – he was conversely quite capable – it wasn’t that he would slow her down – his distance shooting had the potential to be very handy. It was that he was so damn…confusing.

He didn’t take the bait she’d offered back when he caught up to her in Belarus. She’d planned to bed him and poison him in his sleep, making her namesake proud. But he’d refused and she knew it wasn’t because he preferred men or wasn’t capable (just how many times had he been married/engaged/divorced?)

He encouraged her through her deprogramming and training, eased her process into SHIELD. But why? He gained nothing from her presence other then being right about her changing sides. She supposed that was something, but not enough to warrant him applying to be her partner. Especially when he claimed lone-wolf status himself.

Agent Barton confused the hell out her.

And that was a problem.

The mission was to track and take down a drug ring that specialized in Super Soldier Serum-like pills that were killing people left and right, their bodies unable to process the changes that came with the high. The plan was simple: Natasha would go in, take out the ring members, steal the ledger they had on suppliers and customers and any of the drug they were storing, and high tail it out of there before delivering the items to the proper authorities. Barton was to watch from a distance, bow in hand, like some kind of guardian angel. She didn’t believe in angels and sure as hell didn’t need any.

Everything went according to plan; she got in, dispensed the guards – focusing on disabling instead of killing per Coulson’s request – and nabbed the ledger and drugs. But as she was leaving one gang member regained consciousness and shot at her with his standard issue firearm. The bullet nearly clipped her shoulder. She felt a rush of air and with a glance back saw an arrow sprout from the guy’s forearm.

Maybe a guardian angel wasn’t so bad.

“Got the goods?” Hawkeye asked over the comms.

“Roger that,” she replied. She heard the guard yelling over his injury and cast a look back. Damn. His watch doubled as a comm device.

“We’re going to have company, Hawkeye.”

“Shit. Okay, meet you at the alternate rendezvous.”

She’d thought it overly cautious to have a secondary meeting point in case things went south. Although she supposed when it was just her, plan B didn’t exactly have to coordinated.

She was being followed. She turned sharply down an alley, swiping a coat off a rack of an outdoor market as she passed. She zipped it up, slipping the ledger and drugs into the pockets. She slipped a pair of sunglasses from a dozing shop owner and a ball cap from a tourist. A casual look over her shoulder found three gang members hot on her trail.

She ran, weaving in and out of the crowd. Suddenly a hand gripped her arm, pulling her into a residential doorway. If it weren’t for the sensation of rough and distinctly placed callouses lining the fingers and palm she’d have fought back.

“Seven-o-clock,” she muttered to Agent Barton.

“I see ‘em.”

“They’ve tailed me. Know I’m-“

“Play along,” he whispered quickly before taking her in his arms and…kissing her?

It took all she had not to slap him. What the hell was this?

And then something happened that only furthered the mystery of Barton: she enjoyed it. It was a good kiss, a great kiss. Warm, gentle, a little moisture. He tasted of coffee and the pastry they’d had for breakfast. His arms were tight around her and she then noticed hers were circling his corded neck.

He pulled back, smirking just a little, making his eyes light up, igniting the silvery blue-green of his irises. “They’re gone,” he announced.

She swatted him on the arm. “What the hell was that?”

“What? Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable.” He put on the ball cap that must’ve fallen off during the kiss. She didn’t even remember losing it.

“You’re awful, Barton.”

“Aww, c’mon, Red. We kissed. The least you can do is call me Clint.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t humor yourself.” She folded her arms and pushed past him. “Let’s get the package to Coulson.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And dammit if that mid-western drawl didn’t sound just a little bit sexy.


	2. December 2: Pets and Animals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Liho and Lucky aren't exactly getting along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 2 of the Advent Calendar

Clint loved Lucky. He really did. That dog was his pride and joy – one eye and limp and all. Kate had even made an Instagram for the dog and it had more viewers than Clint wanted to admit – especially since it had more viewers than his, but whatever. The problem wasn’t Lucky’s online popularity; it was his inability to not flip his shit at Natasha’s cat.

Since moving in – because, yeah, he was now totally sharing an apartment with his partner/lover/girlfriend/woman/whatever and still couldn’t completely comprehend how amazing that was– Lucky and Nat’s cat, Liho, had been going at it like…well, like cats and dogs.

Their current solution was to leave Liho outside and then let her in whenever they took Lucky for a walk. But it was autumn now and Clint didn’t want the kitty to spend the winter outside. So Clint and Nat had bought a kennel for each animal and were now working on slowly introducing them to the idea of sharing a space.

Lucky, for his part seemed to at least be trying. Liho wasn’t interested.

“Aww, cat, he just wants to be friends,” Clint sighed, examining Lucky’s now scratched nose. It wasn’t anything deep, just a little swat to get the dog away.

“What do we do?” Nat asked, sitting on the couch with Liho in her lap. The cat was purring, gloating over Lucky’s whining.

“I don’t know. We could-”

Nat and Clint’s cell phones went off, signaling an incoming message. Nat checked hers first. “We’ve got a mission.”

“Guess we’ll leave the critters with Kate.”

They warned Kate when she came over to go over pet care about the current feud. She raised a brow but shooed them off, offering assurances that she could handle it.

The mission was a success, which meant no med bay, short briefings, and little paperwork. “We should be this successful all the time,” Clint joked.

“There’s a suggestion in here about you stepping up your game then,” Nat said.

Clint rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, I walked into that one.” He paused with his hand on the doorknob to their shared apartment. It was quiet inside. Eerily quiet.

“Kate?” Clint asked as he entered. What he found was Kate dozing off on the couch, Lucky at her feet and Liho in her lap. She put a finger up to her lips and pointed to the sleeping pets.

“What? How?” Clint whispered in disbelief.

“Stern talking to. That and I put their food bowls on opposite ends of the kitchen. I guess they realized the other wasn’t a threat to their food and it snowballed from there.”

Nat grinned. “Looks like she has a superpower after all.”

Kate beamed. “Well then, that’s an extra twenty bucks, Barton.”

“For this peace, I’ll make it forty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the format of this to a multi-chapter instead of a series. Will still update daily. :)


	3. December 3: Being ‘normal’

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 3 of the Clintasha Advent Calendar: Being ‘normal’

“Normal” was still a new concept.

It had been three months since Clint and Natasha had retired, walked away from SHIELD and the Avengers to set up shop in the middle of Iowa. Everyone had told them they’d get bored, and the first few weeks had been tough. But slowly they’d both adjusted to the idea of peace and quiet, of sleep, of turning in arrowheads for garden sheers, Quinjets for pickup trucks. Knives were for kitchen use. The only paperwork was bills.

Natasha thought it was strange at first to see her hands caring for tomato plants. She’d never thought of herself as nurturing, what with her ledger. But now the skins matched her hair and the juice from the blackberries in the neighboring patch was the only thing to stain her hands red.

Clint thought it was strange at first to use the ax for its intended purpose of chopping wood. He’d been taught his whole life to make anything, everything, a weapon, and the tool shed had felt like an armory for a long time. But now the tools all feel right in his hard-skinned hands, almost as if they were responsible for the callouses instead of years with a bow.

“Normal” still tended to have quotes around it when either thought about their lives. But like with the ledger and the bow, they knew those quotes would soon melt away into the nebulous “Past.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one today, but it just felt done. 
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading, commenting, bookmarking, and kudos-ing!


	4. December 4: Food and Drink

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In Natasha's profession, honesty is not always the best policy. Even when it comes to food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 4 of the Clintasha Advent calendar

“I don’t drink,” Nadine lied, stiffening her posture. She’d seen the move once in a period film about the temperance movement. Alcohol had no effect on her but her cover was a prudish woman, meant to be overlooked and considered no fun to avoid building social observation. It worked and she slipped out of the party with the key to the host’s house.

 

“It’s my favorite!” Nancy gushed, giggling and leaning in to the mark’s embrace as they huddled together in the booth. The little Italian restaurant had amazing cuisine, she’d give them that, and the tiramisu was no exception. But it was far from her favorite. And watching her mark choke on it after she’d slipped in poison to his portion of their shared dessert, she remained un-swayed.

 

“I’m allergic,” Natalie Rushman lied. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and left Tony Stark standing there irritated as yet another woman appeared to be averse to strawberries.

 

“I like Jhalmuri,” Agent Romanoff fibbed, taking another bite of the offered newspaper wrapped street snack. Banner looked a little better, a little less guilty for scaring her with a threatened Hulk-out, as she took his offering. Kolkata was disappearing behind them as the SHIELD jeep sped them off to the awaiting Quinjet. She wasn’t sure what would happen with a Hulk onboard the Helicarrier, but Banner at least seemed to have a lid on it.    

 

“Chocolate has magical properties,” Lady Romanoff deadpanned.

“And that is why it’s part of your mating ritual?” Thor inquired.

“Something like that.”

Thor nodded, picking up Mjölnir from the coffee table. “You’ve been most helpful, Lady Romanoff.”

Natasha wasn’t sure if Jane liked chocolate or not, but got the distinct impression she was about to get a lot of it.

 

“It tastes just like home,” Natasha feigned, satisfied with the ear-to-ear grin on Roger’s face. She’d taken him to an Irish pub last week that served authentic corn beef and made their own soda bread. She’d ignored his watery eyes as the food brought back memories. Now it seemed he was trying to return the favor. But she didn’t have childhood memories for the borsht and kvass to bring back.

 

“I made cornbread,” Tasha announced. Clint was wearing nothing but a towel wrapped loosely around his hips, hair still wet from his shower. There was a cast on his arm from his most recent mission.

“And lemon meringue pie.” She pointed to the fridge where the dessert was chilling.

It was something they’d started years ago when she’d been shot by a ghost. She’d been kicked off active duty long enough to warrant the need for a hobby and took up cooking. She’d started off with recipes from the Internet and made Clint her Guiney pig. But then he’d gotten stabbed in Croatia and was off duty too.

It would’ve been his mother’s fiftieth birthday so they honored her memory by making the dishes of Clint’s childhood, the parts he wanted to remember. That first time had lumpy mashed potatoes, too-dry and burnt fried chicken, more salty than sweet cornbread, and an absolute disaster of a pie. But Clint had eaten it all and Nat could see the emotion he was hiding below the surface.

So she’d kept at it.

And now, on his mother’s fifty-third birthday, she’d gotten it just right.

“Damn good pie,” Clint remarked, scooping the last of it into his mouth. She smiled and began cleaning the table, taking the dishes to the sink.

“You cooked, I’ll wash up, Tasha.”

“With your broken arm?” She gave him a look before running water in the sink. “Besides, I don’t mind washing dishes.”

He stepped towards her and took her face in his rough, broad hands. “Liar,” he chided softly.

His thumb ran over her cheekbone, coaxing the truth from her. “Okay, I hate doing dishes.”

He leaned in and kissed her gently, his lips tangy sweet from the lemon pie. “Well at least your honest.”

She grinned and kissed him back. “Only with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, guys!!! It's been a while since I've had a chance to write anything, so these have been really fun.
> 
> Thank you too for commenting, bookmarking, and kudosing!


	5. December 5: Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Day 5 of the Clintasha Advent Calendar event
> 
> Some gifts are better than others.

When he was nine and in foster care, a charity drive had handed out coats for Christmas. That year he got a real, hope-to-die Carhartt. It was a little big and the brown color reminded him too much of whiskey bottles, but the sucker was _warm_.

For the longest time it was his favorite gift. A black mark in the otherwise red column that was his childhood experiences.

But then Natasha came home after a solo mission wearing an arrow pendant on a slim, silver chain. “Do you like it?” she asked at his silent observation. “I saw it and thought of you and after Loki I just…” She trailed off.

But he knew the rest without needing the words.

“It’s…” he looked into her emerald eyes, saw the hidden anxiety, the small need for his approval, “perfect.”

And suddenly he had a new favorite gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet today, but, Monday so...
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading, bookmarking, and leaving comments and kudos!


	6. December 6: Missions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some missions are better than others.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 6 of the Clintasha Advent Calendar event on Tumblr

To say that she had favorite missions was a bit ghoulish. There was nothing to favor about dealing with low-lives and scum, getting shot at, lying, deceiving, and all the other necessary but unsavory parts of the job.

Except, there was.

She loved her line of work. She loved the adrenaline rush and the satisfaction at the job well done. She loved the way the quinjet felt whisking them to far off places. She loved the thrill of the hunt for a target. She was less enthusiastic about eliminating said target, but SHIELD made sure that scum had it coming, that there was no other option.

So she did have favorite missions.

She loved Venice because she and Clint completed the mission in half the expected time. She loved Borneo because it had been so easy and smooth, like a well-oiled machine or a cleaned pistol. She loved Tokyo because she found out Clint had a jealous streak and it made her realize his affection towards her laid outside of just friends or partners. She loved Budapest because she realized she felt the same way. She loved Qatar because it was where they took out the last of the Red Room and Clint had been there with her, helping her face that demon one last time. She loved Berlin because the mission let her flex her new Level 7 clearance. She loved Chicago because she found a necklace there that she convinced herself to buy. (She loved Chicago because she found Clint had a possessive side to go along with his jealous streak.) She loved Abuja because it was their first flawless mission post-Loki.

It was also their last.

After that, Fury partnered her up with Rogers, stating Barton was cleared for solo-missions again. And then SHIELD fell apart, ripped to shreds from the inside out. She hated D.C. She hated New York and all its memories of Loki. She hated Aberdeen because it was where Clint had nearly died from gunshot wounds to the chest and left arm that had him in PT for months. She hated Stalingrad because she’d relapsed, gone back into her programming and tried to kills him. She hated Seoul because they’d been kidnapped and she had to listen to him being tortured while her own captors cut into her. She hated Melbourne because she’d lost her cool and shot a target too soon.

But there was one mission, one place, that she hated and yet loved so completely it hurt. In Manila he found her, pointed an arrow at her heart and offered her a job, a second chance. She hated it because she’d been so tired, so desperate, she asked him to shoot her. She loved it because he didn’t.

There were missions she loved, ghoulish or not, and she’d remember each of them forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for supporting this effort. :)


	7. December 7: AU/Crossovers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You never know who you're going to run into in a small town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 7 of the Clintasha Advent Calendar event on Tumblr.

In a small town soda shop, red curls bounce as the teenager laughs behind her hand, keeping the ice cream from her milkshake in her mouth. “He sounds like quite the character, Pep,” the redhead tells her friend.

Pepper nods. “I’m not flipping for nothing, Nat! He’s the most enraging and endearing boy I’ve ever met,” she concludes taking a finishing sip from her own milkshake.

“You’ll have to introduce me to him,” Nat comments.

Pepper’s eyes glaze over for a second before she looks around. She leans in, beckoning Nat closer with her hand. “He invited me to a street race tonight.”

Nat raises a brow. Pepper was a little too much of a square paper-shaker to be actually considering going to an illegal street race. She’d be eaten alive by the rift-raft attending.

Pepper bites her lip. “You wouldn’t want to go with me, would you?”

Nat rolls her eyes. “Just admit you need a body guard.”

Pepper grins. “Oh, I don’t know. I think Tony’s going to guard my body pretty well.”

Nat fakes a gag.

…

The race is set on Cornado Street down by the docks. Hot Rods are lined up, paired off and waiting their turn to the sound of gunning engines. Pepper finds Tony easily, his greased hair and sunglasses doing little to hide the dollar signs of his clothes and of course his speedster. He kisses her on the cheek before eyeing up Natasha.

“Who’s your friend?”

Pepper keeps her arm around Tony’s waist as she introduces, “Tony, this is Natasha. Nat, this is Tony.”

The clang of a wrench sounds from under the roadster. A moment later a head pops out, face covered in grease. “Cylinders look good, boss.”

“Glad to hear it, Barton.” Tony waves a hand at the girls. “Ladies, this is my trusted mechanic, Clint Barton. He keeps the hot rod in tune when I’m not there.”

“S’what you get for going off to that fancy university, you know,” Barton tosses back, pulling a rag from his jean’s pocket to wipe his hands. He nods to Natasha. “How’s it hanging, Red?”

Nat rolls her eyes. If she had a nickel for every pass someone made at her…

An announcement blares on a tinny microphone for the next round to line up. “That’s me, ladies,” Tony proclaims. He pecks Pepper on the cheek and jumps into his speedster, revving the engine before driving off.

Barton comes to stand beside her. “You don’t remember me, do you?” He rubs lightly at the back of his neck.

Nat turns to look at him, takes in his dirty face and brilliant eyes. She narrows her gaze, concentrating on those blue-grey irises that seem so familiar. It clicks. “You fixed my flat tire.”

He grins. “I never forgot you, you know. Never could. Not with that red.” He points to her hair. Nat tucks a strand of it behind her ear.

Pepper grabs Natasha’s arm, pulling her towards her. “You know, I can go home with Tony if you want to check engines with that mechanic.”

Nat swats her away but doesn’t deny it. She remembers that day almost two years ago. Her front, left tire had caught a nail in the parking lot at school. She’d walked six blocks to a little shop and he’d walked six back with her, new tire rolling on the ground beside him the whole way. She’d found the whole thing kind of sweet, really.

“Here comes Tony,” Barton mentions. A moment later the two cars zip by, taillights devil red in the nighttime. It’s while all the attention is on who crosses the finish line that he steals a look at the redhead. He knows she’ll never think of him again after tonight. Why would she? Daughter of rich folk, no doubt a queen at school. And him a bundie with just enough money in his pocket to get new boots. He liked his job at the Stark estate. But it was also a reminder of who he was, where he came from.

And how out of reach a girl like this one would always be.

While Pepper kisses Tony straight on the mouth, celebrating his win, Natasha glances over to the blonde, older boy next to her. He’s exactly the kind of ruggedly handsome her parents would never approve of. But he seems kind and gentle, good with his hands. She supposes in another world they’d be perfect together.

She just wishes it were this one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm gonna be honest and admit I really didn't know what to do with this prompt, so...vaguely historical piece. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, commenting, bookmarking, and kudosing!!! :)


	8. December 8: Affection/Nicknames

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint has no shortage of nicknames for Nat. But Natasha can't seem to find one for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 8 of the Clintasha Advent Calendar event on Tumblr. 
> 
> Translations from Google.

Clint had no shortage of nicknames for her: Nat, Tasha, Red, Princess, love-bug, sweetie, babe, baby; the list went on. But other than “Hawkeye” she didn’t have some cutesy, couple name for him.

And it wasn’t a problem, per se, but rather an annoyance because she felt like her should have one.

Sure, she’d been given suggestions and ideas from nearly everyone she knew. Phil claimed pain in the ass could be affectionate. Maria suggested something typical and boring – honey. Tony had a wildly inappropriate list that she was temped to turn in to Pepper. Bruce didn’t really have anything to say on the matter, and Rogers got a little too sappy on her, pulling in old-timey terms like best guy and going steady. Thor had a few Asgardian names but their translations were far too poetic and mushy.

“возлюбленный,” Barnes suggested late one evening as they staked out a Hydra base. Steve and Clint had taken the south end, Clint up high to act as a sniper. Barnes had a similar position on the north side and stayed in contact with her via comms. Once she’d infiltrated the base on her end and took down the jamming signal, they could communicate with their fellow teammates.

Natasha shook her head. “A little direct,” she accused.

Barnes sounded a bit bored. “’Beloved’ is apt, though, isn’t it?”

But the word was more than that. They’d been taught it in the Red Room as a kind of swear. Truelove, darling, sweetheart, boyfriend, it meant all these but _more._ It meant involvement, it meant trust, it meant _love_. And love was a dirty word, a dangerous word. Knives, bullets, wire, none of those were anything compared to love.

But Clint had always been good about trusting her with her weapons.

So later than evening when he limped out of the compound with a bullet in his leg and his weight supported by her arms, she leaned in, kissed his cheek, and whispered the word.

He didn’t know it – his Russian more than subpar – but the smile with which she ended it told him all he needed to know. “You too, Tasha.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again, guys!!! I'll get to your lovely comments as soon as I can!


	9. December 9: Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's not always the storm that scares us.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 9 of the Clintasha Advent Calendar event on Tumblr.

Natasha had only ever seen a tornado once. It had been while on a mission in South America and she’d never forgotten the eerie green tint to the sky, the bizarre stillness just before, and the roar of the wind as the horror passed.

The second time had been during the fallout of SHIELD’s implosion, or whatever you want to call Hydra invading everything she thought she’d been fighting for. She’d gone to Clint’s farmhouse in Iowa only to find he wasn’t there. She’d sent him a coded text days ago but had gotten no response.

She’d never admit it but she was getting worried.

It was well into noon when she woke up that first day at the farmhouse. She made toast and eggs, taking note of the dark clouds stalking the low, flat prairie. She ate her breakfast and took the mug of tea she’d made outside with her to watch the thunderstorm roll in.

The first thing she noticed was how quiet and still it got. The birds quit chirping. The breeze quit playing with the weather vain on top of the barn. Then the lighting changed, tingeing the sky, poisoning the blue with that dirty green.

Her heart was pounding as she ducked inside, mug forgotten on the porch steps, and turned on the TV to the local news. The meteorologist was standing in front of the graphic laden green scene pointing out the path of the quickly approaching tornado. As soon was the words “Get to shelter now,” left his lips, she bolted outside for the entrance to the cellar, slamming the heavy doors shut behind her.

The beating of her heart mixed with the roar as it came closer and closer with each second. It sounded so big. So…reckless. So unfeeling and uncaring for anything living or dead in its path.

Her mind flashed to another roar. To an uncontrollable force that attacked her on the Helicarrier.

And suddenly it was like she couldn’t breathe. Her heart was pounding in her ears, another roar to join the wind and the memories. And then it was all impossibly loud and-

“Tasha?”

The heavy door slammed shut, quieting the wind outside just enough to hear his thundering steps descend into the cellar.

“Clint?” she asked tentatively. How? How could he be here?

He wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her in. “Breathe. Okay. It’s okay. It’s going south. It’s gonna miss us. Shh.”

“Clint.”

“I’m here.”

“Where were you? I thought-”

“My flight got delayed. I drove up from St. Louis and was in town when the weather report came on. I had to come here. See if you were here, if you were okay.”

He wrapped his other arm around her, pulling her into his chest. His scent was so familiar, so soothing. She could hear his heart and in was beating just as fast and hard as hers. He was scared. Maybe of the weather outside, maybe for her. Maybe both. But it was okay. They were here together, safe in the cellar with the storm going south of the farmhouse.

“You okay?” he asked after awhile.

She clung to him tighter and listened as the roar lessened. “I am now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys,   
> So this was supposed to go up yesterday but I had my senior thesis show and was like crazy super busy. Sorry 'bout that.


	10. December 10: Free Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We're only as lucky as we believe we are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 10 of the Clintasha Advent Calendar event on Tumblr.

Clint wakes up to the sunlight streaming in through the antique glass windows, the ones thicker on the bottom where time and gravity have shifted the planes. They’ll need replacing. He’s got some on special order: a man in Plainfield makes them by hand.

With a contented sigh, Clint sits up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, easing off it gently as not to wake up the incredible woman next to him. He glances at her, watching her sleep as he gets dressed. She stirs lightly as he tugs on a flannel.

He makes and pours himself coffee, sipping it as he thumbs through some blueprints. It hadn’t been an easy undertaking, renovating this classic New England house. But with it had come running into his college sweetheart again and eventually picking up where they’d left off.

   “Love the view this morning,” a sleep-husked voice speaks as warm arms wrap around Clint’s waist.

“Is that so?” He takes another sip of coffee.

“Hmm.” He feels her bury her face into his back. After a moment he sets his coffee down and turns in her arms, breathing in her hair.

“Nat,” he murmurs.

She clings tighter.

He kisses the top of her head, breathing her in. “How did I ever get this lucky?”

He feels her smile. “Trust me, darling. After what we did last night, you aren’t the only lucky one.”

He laughs at her implication before mentioning that there is coffee left for her in the pot.

It’s a moment before she extracts herself from his arms to get some, and it’s in that moment that both of them realize just how lucky they really are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for your support by reading, commenting, bookmarking, and kudos-ing!!!!! :)


	11. December 11: Dates/Dating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone thinks we're dating but we're not but that can change. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 11 of the Clintasha Advent Calendar event on Tumblr

“So are you taking Clint to the gala?” Pepper asked, gaze glued to her tablet. She was supposed to be having lunch with Natasha, but work got in the way and Nat had been nice enough to bring Chinese takeout to her office.

“Probably,” she replied mouth full of orange chicken.

“You haven’t asked him yet?” Pepper’s tablet is now forgotten.

Nat shrugged. “He’s my go-to date. He knows the event is this Friday. It’s just kind of assumed.” She took another bite of fried rice.

Pepper leaned in, takeout box forgotten beside her. “Go-to, date, huh? So not a _date_ date.?”

Nat raised a brow. “You know it’s not like that between us. He’s my best friend.” She sipped her green tea from the bottle, pretending to like the stuff. “Besides, I’m too busy to find someone serious. He’s… handy.”

Pepper frowned deeply. “Too busy? Natasha, _I’m_ too busy and I’ve got a fiancé. And someone serious? Congratulations, you’ve found him.”

“What do you mean?”

“For a spy you sure do miss a lot. Nat, he’s been mooning over you since before I knew you worked for SHIELD. That day you came in late, claiming your boyfriend in the army was on leave and conveniently had a photo of you two, I saw it then. He looks at you like you’ve hung the moon and stars.”

Nat became very interested in her lunch. “So?”

“So? Nat…” she sighed. “He’s perfect for you. “

Nat just hummed and said she had to get back to base.

…

Darcy had dragged Jane out shopping for new shoes for the gala when Natasha ran into them. They agreed on a cup of coffee and sat down at one of the outdoor tables to take in the crisp, fall air.

“What color are you wearing?” Darcy asked, sipper her latte.

“Gold,” Jane answered then smiled. “Thor helped pick it out.”

“It’ll probably come with decorative armor,” Nat teased dryly. Darcy laughed.

“I’m wearing blue. Navy blue. With red earrings.” She smirked. “Trying to match Steve, see if he’ll ask me to dance.”

“He’ll only have eyes for Sargent Barnes if he’s well enough to show.”

Nat nodded in agreement to Jane’s statement but added, “He’s a gentleman, Darcy. He’ll dance with you if you ask him. Bucky will too.”

Darcy winked. “A threesome. Score.”

Jane rolled her eyes while Natasha shook her head, bemused smile on her face.

“What about you, Nat? You wearing purple?” Darcy asked

Nat tilted her head in asking.

She looked suddenly uncomfortable. “I mean, you know, ‘cause Barton…”

“Nat’s wearing black, right?” Jane cut in.

Natasha sat back and played with her Styrofoam cup. “Actually I’m going in red.” She steered to conversation towards Jane’s work, taking interest in the brunette’s recent project with defining the physical limitations of the Bifrost/ Einstein-Rosen Bridge.

…

Natasha was finishing up an intense training session when Banner entered the tower gym, a small case in his hand. “Ah, Natasha, good. You’ll know where Barton is. I’ve got some new arrows for him.”

Nat landed a solid kick on the training dummy before turning to look at Bruce. “I don’t actually.” She narrowed her eyes. “I’m not his keeper, you know.”

Banner put up his hands in an innocent gesture. “I’m sorry. I just assumed…”

She rolled her eyes. “Try the roof.” She took a long drink of water and left to take a shower, far more irritated than she knew she should be.

…

The gala was in full swing. Music lifted and fell, swelled and receded. Champagne flowed and bubbled, glittering in glasses in time to the music. The only pause in the smooth motion of the dancing couples was for a round of speeches and thanks for supporting the evening’s cause.

Natasha spun, hand never leaving Clint’s as he expertly pulled her back in and they resumed their waltz. Once the music ended, pausing between numbers, Natasha dared to ask the question that had been on her mind since the moment she saw him all dashing in his tux.

“Is this a date?”

He looked confused, lost. “Uh?”

“Because the setting and the music all seem to suggest that it is.”

“I mean…”He rubbed the back of his neck. “Do you want it to be a date?”

She thought about that. She liked his company, liked him. She was his partner and had been for years. If there was any fear or hesitation rooted in the idea of being something more than friends, she’d have left him in a lurch a long time ago.

So instead she smiled, took his hand in hers and pulled them back into a dancers’ stance as the music picked back up.

“Yes. Yes I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was feeling a bit girly when I wrote this. Happens. 
> 
> I hope you had a good weekend, everyone! Thanks for reading, commenting, bookmarking, and kudosing!!


	12. December 12: Tropes/Clichés

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tropes are everywhere! But what if they were all together? 
> 
> Or the one where I Googled common tropes and tried to combine as many as I could into one, weird universe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 12 of the Clintasha Advent Calendar event on Tumblr. 
> 
> Fair warning, this is borderline crack!fic.

The baddy of the week was quickly becoming the batty of the week.

A ray gun? Really? “AIM don’t make ‘em like they used to, huh?” Clint asked Nat as she shot off a few rounds at the manic scientist, waving his weapon around behind some kind of repulsor shielding.

Nat shrugged. “I don’t know. His nut job flare is starting to grow on me.

The AIM scientist laughed once more before lowering his shields and firing off his weapon in one fell swoop. “You’re too late,” he cried triumphantly. “You’ll never escape my cliché ray!”

Clint drew his brows together, “Did he just say-”

But a cloud of dusty red light filled the air and suddenly all went black.

Clint opened his eyes to find himself standing at a desk in a bland cubicle. The distant ringing of phones and keyboard typing filtered into his hearing aids. He looked at the pink slip on his desk. Great. He’d been fired from his job as a… Huh? He couldn’t seem to remember.

With nothing much left to do, he packed up his desk into the provided bankers box and left the sleek modern building through its glass lobby and into the streets of a busy city. Rain soaked his clothes immediately. And was that _music_ playing?

He wandered the streets for a while, trying and failing to remember where he lived. The rain eventually slowed to a drizzle and that’s when he saw _her_.

The sun came out as she rounded the corner, lighting up her red hair and igniting her emerald eyes. It was like she was moving in slow motion, the waves and wrinkles of her clothes showing the passing of energy with every movement. Her red curls bounced in time to her steps. She was carrying a bag of groceries, lettuce leaves and Baggett bread poking from the top of the paper bag.

Her eyes met his and a warm, beautiful smile spread over her face.

It was love at first sight.

The blaring of a horn caught his attention too late, ears not being up to snuff and eyes currently distracted by such an angelic creature.

The road was still slippery from the rain and he could hear the squealing of tires as the rubber slid over the pavement. The slow motion continued and he blinked once. The car was swerving to miss a rolling baby carriage. He blinked again and he could see its trajectory was heading straight for the red haired woman. He blinked once more, dropping his bankers box and running towards her.

Her heart beat in her chest but she was frozen with fear. The car was careening towards her and then she was suddenly colliding with something from the side instead of the front. Her mind barely grasped that it was the man with the most beautiful eyes she’d ever seen.

And then the car hit him.

His head was bleeding and the driver was screaming and the redhead was so suddenly filled with loss and dread. How could that be possible? She didn’t even know this man’s name. And yet when they asked her she couldn’t stop herself. She lied, said he was her fiancé.

It didn’t feel like a lie.

 

She was in his hospital room when he woke up.

“Tasha?” he asked her. The nickname stirred something inside her, something she couldn’t put her finger on. There was no way he could’ve known her name was Natasha, and yet…

She’d snuck a peek at his chart and found his name to be Clint. That too felt familiar.

“Easy, darling,” she cooed, running a hand over his hair. He didn’t push her away.

“Tasha,” he whispered again. “What happened?”

“There was a car. Do you remember it?”

“A car. And the mad scientist?”

“What are you taking about?” she inquired before hearing a distant laugh, like a memory but closer.

“I…” he hesitated, “I don’t know.”

They both flinched as a loud crash sounded outside in the hallway. Natasha crept to the doorway and peered out. She gasped as she saw a man with a metal arm holding a nurse to the wall. “I’ll be right back,” she tossed over her shoulder to Clint.

“Where am I?” the man yelled. His hospital gown had blood on it from where it’d dripped down from his nose.

“Sir, I need you to calm down,” a nurse tried, signaling to an orderly to fetch a sedative.

“Do you work for Hydra? Doom? AIM?”

The names shook something loose in Natasha. Hydra? AIM?

AIM. The distant laugh sounded again and Natasha could see that the man with the metal arm heard it too. They locked eyes, some kind of understanding passing between them in the shared gaze.

 _Where did you send them?_ A new voice asked. _Bring them back._

Nat heard her name called gently at her elbow and saw Clint standing there, lovely and impossibly familiar eyes wide with fear. “I’m hearing things,” he stated with a shaky voice.

The man with the metal arm let go of the nurse. The orderly was coming towards them with the sedative. “We need to leave,” he murmured.  

“Leave?” Clint asked, confused at this man’s presence. But something about him seemed familiar too. He grabbed Clint’s arm in the metal hand and dragged him down the hall, Natasha at their heels and a whole floor’s worth of medical staff just behind her.

They zigged and zagged through the hallways, avoiding doctors and orderlies and nurses and security with each turn. “In here,” metal arm instructed, shoving them into a supply closet before pressing an ear up to the door. “I’m getting to old for this shit,” he muttered.

Clint scoffed in the dark. “Supply closet? A little cliché there, cowboy.”

Nat went to grin but stopped. Cliché?

_You’ll never escape my cliché ray!_

“Shit,” she swore. “We’re stuck in some kind of cliché-based alternate universe.”

Metal arm huffed a laugh but cut it off when they all heard an explosion in the back of their minds.

Clint took her hand in the dark and she knew there was no way this was the first time they’d touched in this way. It was too recognizable, too well-known. “How do we get out?” Clint asked.

Nat pondered this for a moment but ultimately it was Metal Arm that answered. “The most cliché way possible.”

“True love’s kiss?” Clint guessed.

Nat grinned. “I’m down for trying that.” She leaned in to where she thought Clint would be but came up short, her forehead hitting his chin awkwardly.

Metal Arm – and he has a name; Nat was sure she knew it – cleared his throat. “Not that,” he replied. “We have to kill ourselves.

“What!” Clint responded. “No way.”

“It’s just like a dream. You die, you wake up.” Metal Arm – Jake? – opened the door a crack. “Coast is clear. We’re on the fifth floor. If we break a window and jump out, we could fall to our death.”

“And if it doesn’t work?” Clint inquired.

“Then it’s a good thing we’re at a hospital.

Nat could feel Clint’s pulse with how close she was to him, scrunched up in the tight proximity of the supply closet. She tightened her grip on his hand. “Trust me?” she asked, maybe implored.

He hesitated for a moment but squeezed her hand back. “Of course.”

“Then on three,” Metal Arm – James? Yes, that’s it. – commanded. “One, two, three.”

They burst from the closet and straight to the nearest room, shattering the glass of the window with a chair from the waiting room. Air filled the tiny space and Nat heard more clashing and clattering in the back of her mind, in the world in which she really belonged. She watched as James climbed up into the windowsill and took a breath before leaping into the air. He fell and fell and-

“There they are!” a voice shouted from behind them. Clint and Nat turned at the cry, missing James’s landing. They didn’t know if he made it, but they didn’t have a choice. They looked at each other, eyes never leaving as they clasped hands, and clambered up to the window.

“I love you,” Clint called into the wind.

“I love you too,” she replied.

They jumped.

Air went past them, roaring in their ears at the fast pace of the decent. The pavement was coming up quickly and Nat felt her heart beating rapidly. Fifty feet, twenty feet, ten feet, five.

No splat. No collision. Just floating.

 

“Glad you’re back,” Stark’s stupid face congratulated as smoke curled around his suit of armor. “We got the bad guy.”

Clint groaned as he sat up, cradling his head in his hands. “We back?”

“Indeed. To where did you venture, Archer, Lady Romanov?” Thor asked, armor a little scorched and his surrounds smelling like ozone.

Clint looked over at Nat and cracked a small smile. “A place full of every movie troupe ever.”

Stark laughed. “That I’d have liked to see.”

“Where’s James?” Nat inquired. “He got sent there too.”

Stark jerked a thumb over to where Steve was kneeling, coaxing Bucky to sit up. Bruce was nearby, med kit in hand. Clint chuckled beside her. She raised a brow in inquiry.

“It get it now. He was the seasoned badass coming out of retirement to help us in a tense situation. He even said the line. The ‘I’m to old for this shit’ line.”

She laughed and helped him stand up, pulling him into a hug.

“Glad you’re back,” Bruce commented as he approached them, looking them over for any obvious injuries.

“Glad to be back. Cliché-ville was confusing as shit,” Clint remarked, keeping an arm around Nat’s waist. “Although,” he amended, “it was kinda nice to meet you again for the first time.”

Nat rolled her eyes but kissed him on the mouth because in a way he was right. And maybe it was a bit cliché, but she didn’t care. So she added, “C’mon, hero. Let’s ride off into the sunset.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Hope I didn't weird you out...


	13. December 13: Colors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Certain colors just make sense.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 13 of the Clintasha Advent Calendar event on Tumblr.

She liked how they framed the spectrum. Red began the beam and violet gave it its finish. She was red. He was purple. They could blend; become the coloring of a fresh bruise, a violent red-violet. Red was blood. Purple was bruising. They’d had their share of both.

She had always been red. Her hair, her namesake’s tale-tell markings, her ledger. He hadn’t always been purple. He wore it, be it the mark left on his cheek from his father, or the sequins of the circus. But he _became_ purple when _he_ chose it at SHIELD.

Purple was mystery, magic, shadows. Red was passion, anger, blood.

They were the furthest apart on the spectrum, a rainbow between them. So many differences separating one from the other.

But should the beam bend back around, scarlet faded into violet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short and sweet today. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, commenting, bookmarking, and kudosing! :)


	14. December 14: Traditions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some traditions are carried on by others

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 14 of the Clintasha Advent Calendar event on Tumblr.

It had started as just something to do on his days off for “observed holiday celebrations” or however SHIELD defined it. Basically at the end of December, barring any missions, he got a week off to do as he pleased. Problem was, days off really weren’t something Clint liked. Sure, the first day of sleeping in was fantastic, and day two was nice to catch up on things, but by day three he was bored out of his mind and looking for trouble.

After breaking into Phil’s SHIELD apartment for the third year in a row, Coulson had suggested Clint volunteer his time to more productive activities.

Which is how he found himself at a local community center hosting a toy drive for foster kids. He went back every year he could to help round up and hand out gifts to the kids. He read them stories and signed along for Joey and Jesse, twins who had suffered major hearing loss. They drank cocoa and sang holiday classics and watched movies with elves and Santa and reindeer and all the other magical elements to Christmas that he knew a lot of the kids didn’t believe in – victims of the real world at such a young age.

He brought Natasha along the year after she defected. She looked uncomfortable at first but relaxed a little when a group of girls asked her to braid their hair and chat ballet with them.

They went back every year they could, grateful to do something that had the potential to brighten up the holiday for kids that came from similar situations they had.

After Loki they stopped going.

They were too recognizable, too _known_. They were Avengers, plastered on everything from lunchboxes to government mandates for oversight.

It was tough, not having that tradition. And Clint wasn’t sure what to do with that week off at the end of December.

And that’s when Natasha sat down on the couch next to him, laptop in hand, smile on her face.

“What?” he asked, suspicious of such a grin.

She handed him the computer, a YouTube video pulled up and ready to go. He hit play and immediately his heart swelled. There on the screen were Joey and Jesse, all grown up, a book in Joey’s hands. Jesse wore a school t-shirt with a familiar logo - Gallaudet University’s blue and gold.

 _Twas the Night Before Christmas_ , Jesse signed as Joey held the book up. _And all through the house, not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse._

Clint tried really hard not to cry, but when the story finished and the camera pulled back to show a familiar community center full of kids all holding new, donated toys, he couldn’t hold it in.

The video went to black and a title card came on screen.

To the heroes who saved us long before New York

Nat took back her computer and Clint wiped at his eyes. She pulled him into her arms and kissed his hair. “Good to know there’s a little more black in that ledger now, huh?”

He choked out a laugh and kissed her neck. “Merry Christmas, Nat.”

“Merry Christmas, Clint.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for reading, commenting, bookmarking, and kudosing! This has been a lot of fun.


	15. December 15: Parties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They have their own party game.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 15 of the Clintasha Advent Calendar event on Tumblr.

Natasha wasn’t sure if it was a condition or just part of Stark’s personality, but it seemed to her that his holiday party themes were getting more ridiculous year after year.

Rudolph’s Pub – a quaint brew house with Christmas themed ales – sure, she could handle that. But Gingerbread Town – complete with a real, life-sized gingerbread house that guests could eat on all night – was outrageous. She almost longed for the indoor ice rink and snowball fight of last year’s Winter Wonder-Slam.

Clint, on the other hand, was beside himself with joy. Growing up in a circus had left him with a rather nasty sugar habit. At least Stark provided real Swiss chocolate and not those orange excuses for candy Clint called circus peanuts.

“Nat, you gotta try this!” Clint exclaimed, shoving a plate of various sweets into her hands. “These hazelnut bourbon balls are the shit.”

Nat rolled her eyes. Sweets were an American thing in her book. She’d grown up with beets and vodka for crying out loud. But she did try one if only to humor him. “Good,” she stated.

Clint gave her a look, telling her with his expression he knew she was lying. “Okay. Here, this is Mayan Chili Chocolate.” He picked a square of dark chocolate off the plate and held it up to her mouth. She let him feed it to her, making sure her lips lingered just a moment longer than necessary. His eyes went a little dark at that.

Bingo.

Because no matter how garish and ostentatious Tony made each year’s party, the end goal was always the same for her: get Clint home and naked before midnight.

It was a game and he knew it was a game. He did the same thing to her every Halloween party, be it SHIELD’s before the collapse or Tony’s after New York.

It was how they worked. How they played. How they partied.

So Natasha wet her lips, letting the burn from the spicy chocolate linger in her throat, making it even huskier. “Not bad. What else you got?”

Clint blinked heavily, clearly in her trace. He looked at the plate in her hands and picked up a piece of peppermint fudge. “Something to cool things down.”

She frowned. “And if I like it hot?” She raised a brow, hooking him.

He visibly swallowed. “Then I’d go with the spiced rum candy.” He selected the new piece from the plate and she made sure to lick the pad of his thumb as it traced her lips. She hummed with approval. “That I like.”

“Yeah?”

“Wanna taste?” She leaned in closer, lips just barely brushing his, teasing.

“I-”

“Oh get a room, you two,” Tony bellowed from beside them. He had a glass of something chocolaty and no doubt spiked in his hand. A candy cane hung from his mouth like a cigar.

Natasha flashed him a grin. “Oh, I plan to.” And with that she grabbed Clint’s hand and dragged him towards the door.

“Great party, Stark,” Clint called out as they left. “We’ll definitely have to do it again some time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again, guys!


	16. December 16: De-aged/Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We were all young once.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 16 of the Clintasha Advent Calendar event on Tumblr.

“I’m telling!” Natasha yelled as she stood with her arms crossed and her feet firmly planted into the sand of the playground sandbox.

“No you wont,” Clint challenged back. “Because then you’ll have to say that you were playing with the ballerina doll, and you know you’re not supposed to.”

“Well she wouldn’t have gotten broken if _you_ hadn’t thrown your stupid ball.”      

“She wouldn’t have gotten broken if _you_ weren’t playing with her outside like you’re supposed to.”

His arms were crossed and so were hers and their eyes were locked and furious. Neither moved for a long time, each just staring and challenging the other to break first, to shatter like the porcelain ballerina doll that Natasha wasn’t supposed to have outside her room.

With a sneer and foot stomp to punctuate it, Natasha screamed, “I hate you, Clint Barton. Hate you.”

She scooped up the three big pieces of her broken doll and picked at the other smaller ones, careful because she’d been warned about sharp edges. But she inevitably cut her finger and immediately stuck her finger in her mouth to soothe the bead of blood with her tongue.

Clint sighed and put down his ball. He knelt in front of the sandbox and scooped up the part of the sand that the doll had been on, putting it in the matching blue pail, and dumping it into the trash. He gently picked up the portions of her doll and tried to piece them back together. They fit with only a few cracks visible.

“Phil has some glue,” he explained. “I can fix her.” He didn’t look at her as he added, “Then maybe you won’t hate me anymore.”

Natasha considered this, finger still in her mouth. “I don’t hate you now.”

Clint’s steady hands put the doll back together but the cracks were still there, visible if you got close enough, though Natasha never let anyone do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading, commenting, bookmarking, and kudosing! I really have been enjoying this event as well as your feedback!


	17. December 17: Emotions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Displaying emotions is different than feeling them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day seventeen of the Clintasha Advent Calendar event on Tumblr.

Nat landed a solid kick to his gut, causing Clint to take a few steps back, hand up to let her know he needed a moment. At least on the bright side he’d gotten her convinced that sparing with him wasn’t a fight to the death. They both got to live at the end.

“I think we should stop now,” he said a little winded from her knocking the air out of him. Natasha responded only slightly, simply relaxing her stance to stand across from him, hands loose and at her sides. Still pulling in breath, Clint added, “Let’s hit the showers. Meet you outside the locker room in ten.”

She nodded and grabbed her towel, throwing it over her shoulder. It was useless; she’d yet to break a sweat sparing with him.

Clint was done first and was casually leaning against the wall waiting for Natasha. Their partnership was still pretty new and moments like this always had him tense, wondering if she’d given him the slip or would end up behind him with a knife to his throat. He knew that was ridiculous. If she were going to leave or kill him she’d have done so by now. Biding her time was one thing. Being at SHIELD for over a year was another.

“Still waiting on the robot?” a voice inquired with a sneer. “I don’t see why you bother, Barton. It’s obvious she can’t feel anything.”

Clint tried to ignore the voice and it’s owner, Brock Rumlow.

“That ice queen give you any yet?” Brock’s companion, Jack Rollins, furthered. “I mean, I can’t think of any other reason you keep her around.”

Clint rolled his eyes and refused to be baited. Years ago he’d have had both of these guys on the ground, black eyes and bruised ribs dealt out in equal measure. But Coulson had taught him to pick his battles and fighting to help Nat level out was a full time job.

“What’s the matter, Barton? Her unfeeling ways rubbing off on you?”

“Or is she rubbing other things?” Jack insinuated,

Clint scratched at his arm. “Ever wonder what would happen if I said her trigger words while you two were around? Think she’d tear out your throats? I think she could. Her nails are pretty sharp.”

Rollins shook his head. “You don’t even know her activation sequence.”

Clint raised a brow. “You willing to bet on that?” His eyes could see Nat’s shadow hovering by the exit.

Rumlow and Rollins looked a little worried.

Clint smiled. “<Jump, spider.>” he commanded in Russian.

Natasha got the gist easily enough and launched from her hiding place towards Rumlow and Rollins. The pair screeched and dashed away only stopping when they heard Barton laughing. Rumlow flipped him off and headed down the hall with Rollins close behind.

Clint turned to Nat with tears of amusement in his eyes. “Oh my god, their faces. Did you see their faces? That was hilarious!”

But Natasha was frowning deeply, eyes betraying her emotions even when her sill posture gave away nothing else. “They’re afraid of me,” she stated.

“For good reasons, though, right?”

Nat looked at him. “I don’t want them to be afraid of me. I don’t want them to think I’m unfeeling.”

It was extremely rare for Natasha to expel some kind of desire or opinion. This particular one wasn’t new. She’d made it clear when she defected that she was in this for the whole nine yards. No half-assing her turn around.

Clint nodded. “Is that why you went along with the joke?”

She raised a brow. “Is that what you call a joke?” And there was an unmistakable thread of challenge in her tone. It piqued Clint’s interest but there were other fish to fry currently.

“I thought maybe it would show your sense of humor. Give ‘em something to ruminate on about your so called unfeeling status.”

She remained stock-still. “I am unfeeling.”  

Clint laughed. “Like hell you are. There’s no way you couldn’t feel emotions. You play them too well for that.”

“That’s acting and practice and-”

“And memories of the real deal.” He looked straight at her, capturing her gaze with his storm grey eyes. “I think you do feel things, Nat. I think you feel them so much that they overwhelm you and you can’t process them because of what they did to you, so you shut them down and lock them up behind a steely exterior and a cold façade.”

She blinked once, the only indicator that she heard him.

“You feel everything, Nat. That’s your problem. But it’s not a bad thing. It’s what enables you to read and play people, to blend in and adapt. It’s what makes you great at your job.” He held out his hand, telegraphing his movement as he gently rested a hand on her shoulder. “But the job can stay behind. You can be emotional and shit when you’re not working.” He removed his hand before she became weirded out by the gesture. “But it’s okay if you can’t do that yet, It took me awhile to switch the mindset on and off too.”

He wasn’t sure how much of his speech had gotten through to her, but it had needed to be said regardless. So he tilted his head and said, “C’mon. We’ve got mystery meat to poke at in the caf.” He started walking in that direction and was unsurprised when Nat followed. What did shock him, though, was when she opened her moth to speak.

“I do feel everything,” she muttered. “I didn’t for a long time but now…” She sighed heavily. “I don’t know what it means half the time.”

Clint nodded. “Well, that’s why I’m here. I can help sort that shit out.”

She looked at him with open and grateful eyes for a split second before they dropped into a mask of bemusement. “Are you sure _you’re_ qualified to be talking about emotions with your train wreck life?”  

“Oh har har,” he sassed back, opening the door to the cafeteria for her. “Just remember, Romanov. I know where you sleep.”

“Likewise.” And the grin that followed was different than the one she usually played. A note of genuine happiness colored it. And it would’ve gone unnoticed if Clint were anyone else. But Hawkeye never missed.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks guys! I'm home for the holidays now and hope to keep up on this.


	18. December 18: Hobbies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to stay busy when you're not assassinating someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 18 of the Clintasha Advent Calendar event on Tumblr

It started as a joke. Clint had given her a ball of yarn and a pair of needles claiming since she was a spider obviously she knew how to weave. She corrected him by holding up the needles saying, “Knit.” He waved her off but left the materials in her lap.

She learned how to knit because it passed time between missions, in transit, waiting for briefings or for Clint to wake up in medical.

As in all things, she became quite skilled.

She gave Clint a pair of fingerless gloves, purple, with a white target on the backs. She made Coulson a Captain America scarf. She gifted Fury with a pink eye patch carrying bag as part of a running joke she’d made with Clint her first year at SHIELD. (He would never admit to keeping it, claiming it was blackmail the one time Hill found it.)

Clint loved to watch her knit, said it really did make him think of webs. He even tried his hand at it, but after ending up with yarn tangled hopelessly in his lap for the fifth time, he decided to leave her to it. In any case he had his own little hobby.

Coulson might’ve collected Captain America trading cards but Clint build each humidity controlled case they were displayed in. Beautifully handcrafted boxes with delicate and intricate joinery.

Clint loved woodworking. He didn’t get a lot of time to do it, SHIELD and New York not being ideal places for storing a workshop. But a small farm upstate let him borrow their tools in exchange for handling a problem with some small time drug dealers lingering around their place. And when he was finally able to face going back to the homestead in Iowa, he made sure to set up a woodworking shop in the barn – the same barn he’d run into to avoid his father.

It was strange, running into it after SHIELD fell. It felt like running away. But there was nothing he could do until someone, anyone, made contact.

He built and built but nothing could rebuild the life he’d lead for over a decade.

And then he got a package in the mail. It didn’t contain a return address but inside was a plum-colored sweater, cable knit stitch, and reinforced hems. A note was underneath. _Stay warm in Vancouver next month._

He carved a small heart out of cherry wood and put it on a short leather cord exactly the size of his partner’s wrist. He sent it to their Canadian safe house’s address with a note: _To go with that necklace I saw back in Washington._

He had no tools or scrap wood with him when he arrived and her knitting needles were probably sitting in some storage bin along with the rest of her government seized property. But they didn’t need hobbies right then. They had each other, alive, relatively okay, and for now safe.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again, guys, for reading, commenting, bookmarking, and kudosing!!!


	19. December 19: Arguments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every storm will pass.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 19 of the Clintasha Advent Calendar event on Tumblr.

A pair of mugs sat next to a coffee pot on a linoleum countertop stained in one corner with old blood. A set of knives rested in a drawer in the TV stand that had never been used on vegetables or butchered meat. Bed sheets lay wrinkled and tossed about from the early morning abandonment a week ago. The apartment was silently awaiting the arrival of its occupants.

Like a storm rolling in, the sound climbed the stairs with the voices’ owners. It grew in volume and intensity, breaking like a crack of thunder as the door opened.

“For God sakes, Tasha, I’m _fine!”_

“Fine? You have a sprained wrist, two broken ribs, and a minor concussion!”

“Yeah. Minor,” Clint yelled back, reaching for his mug and filling it with water, skipping even coffee in the moment.

Natasha sighed heavily. “Will you just sit down already? Medical only cleared you because I promised to take care of you.”

“And for the thousandth time, I can take care of myself!” He tossed out his water and slammed the mug down in the sink. “I can take care of myself now, _and_ on a mission.”

She stopped him with a hand to his chest as he tried to push past her. “Don’t you dare.”

His gaze hardened.

“Don’t you _dare_ try to pin this on me. I’m not the one who jumped off a goddamn roof.”

“The mission wasn’t blown, Nat. I had the information in my sight. So what if I got a little roughed up. I completed the mission.”

“You almost died, Clint!”

“We almost die all the time!”

“And isn’t it you who always tells me that my life comes first, the mission second.”

“But I had-”

“No! You don’t get to turn the tables on this one. If I can’t be stupid and reckless then neither can you.”

“When are you _not_ stupid and reckless? I’ve seen you piss away orders for a mission so many times I’ve lost count. And you rarely come out unscathed.”

“The Red Room made sure I could handle more encounters with-”

“God damn it, Nat, I’m not made of fucking glass!”

“And you’re not a super solider like me!”

His jaw tightened. He growled low and threatening, stalking towards the couch. He turned on the TV but she blocked the view, standing there with her arms crossed over her chest, eyes hard and dangerous.

“Like it or not, Clint, you have to be more careful.”

“I put in the work, same as you.”

“But you’re not me! You’re weren’t injected with serum, you don’t have accelerated healing, and you can’t keep pretending you do!

He looked hurt. As much as she wanted to stop she couldn’t. Not now when she was so close to ending this. She softened her stance a degree. “I know you think you have something to prove, that you have to verify you position on the Avengers.”

“I do.”

“No. You don’t. You’re an Avenger, Clint, and no one’s denying that but you!”

He opened his mouth to retort but nothing came out. His face slowly contorted, shifting from angry to stunned to sad. Realization underlined his features, drawing down his eyes so that they looked horribly shattered and fractured in the fading sunlight.

It cut into Natasha like the knives in a drawer behind her.

She crossed the distance and knelt down in front of him, taking his bandaged hands in her own. “I love you, Clint. And I hate it when you’re hurt.” She ran her thumb over his scabbed knuckles. “And if I were to ever loose you…” She doesn’t finish the thought because it scares and pains her too much to bear.

He sighs deeply and tugs on her hands until she gets the message and folds into him, wrapping her arms around him as he does her.

“I love you too,” he whispers in her ear. “I… I just… want to be the man you deserve, Tasha.”

She pulls back and takes his head in her hands, tipping his face up to hers. “You are,” she says, pouring in every ounce of conviction she feels. She bends down and kisses his mouth, smiling under his touch as he reciprocates. “Why don’t we go to bed?”

It’s his turn to smile. He lets her lead him to their room.

The next morning the rumpled sheets are pulled around their entangled bodies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, everyone, for your lovely comments. And thank you too for reading, bookmarking, and kudosing!!!


	20. December 20: Music

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They say the cobbler's wife goes barefoot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 20 of the Clintasha Advent Calendar event on Tumblr. 
> 
> PLEASE READ:   
> Hello, everyone! So back in July when we did the summer Clintasha week, I wrote a piece where Clint was a songwriter and Nat a singer and they fell in love. I thought it would be fun to do a sort of one-shot/aftermath of that piece. You can read it without having read the first one, Write You a Love Song, but reading that one will help with setting and relationships between characters.   
> \- Z-socks

“I’ve devolved into clichés,” Clint bemoaned into his third beer.

Kate frowned and took a sip of her extra dry martini. “You’ve gotta admit, it is kind of funny that award-winning lyricist Clint Barton, writer of sad ballads and love songs, can’t find the words to say how he feels about his singer girlfriend.”

He huffed. “It’s not that I can’t find the words to tell her. I tell her every day how much she means to me and how much I love her. I just can’t…put it in a damn song.”

Kate shrugged. “Can’t be that hard to get your feelings to rhyme.”

“I tried to pass off ‘feel your heartbeat’ with ‘fields of wheat.’”

She rolled her eyes.

Clint sucked down the rest of his beer. “We’re supposed to be writing an EP together and I can’t for the life of me write her a single song.” He groaned and put his head on the bar. “How is this possible? I wrote songs for her for years, _years_! I poured all my heart and soul into songs about her, for her. And now, when she’s finally my woman, I can’t put down a single decent lyric.”

Kate patted his head and took another sip of her drink. “There, there. That’s why you called me and had me come out to LA.”

“We’ve only got a few hours. Nat’s on a press tour with the band and I promised her I’d have a piece for our EP by the time she got back.”

“Do you at least have a tune?”

“Kinda. But you know me. The tune follows the words and the words follow the tune. I can’t always do one or the other.”

Kate put down a few bills on the bar and stood up. “Well how about we get started? Lead on, MacDuff.”

…

It was three in the morning and Kate was half asleep on the piano bench in Barton’s apartment. He was at the upright by his door with paper strewn about like an animal had attacked a ream. Scribbled words and notations were dotted on each page at random. Kate had called them the workings of a mad man. But it had been five hours and all he’d managed to come up with was,’ you make me feel alive/ how did I ever survive/ before you,’ and even that was lame.

“I’m going to bed,” Kate announced, tucking a blanket around her shoulders as she collapsed on the couch. “You do that too. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

Clint reluctantly agreed and grabbed a towel from the hall closet to go take a shower.

Nat’s shampoo was sitting next to his on the plastic ledge. A purple loofah hung from the drain stopper on the tub faucet. A facial scrub sat on the ledge. He thought about the lotion sitting on his bedside table, the one that smelled like flowers and rain. He thought about the tea box on the kitchen counter, the drawer in his room that was for her clothes, the second toothbrush by his sink. Even when she wasn’t here, she was.

He took her bottle of shampoo and smelled the crisp, clean scent. He missed her.

A light bulb went off in his head.

Quick as a flash he washed the soap out of his hair, threw a towel around his waist and slid onto the piano bench in front of his baby grand.

Four notes were played followed by an answering four. He played it again, embellished, added chords.

Kate yawned at the noise and rolled over, going back to sleep. Clint spared her a glance but went on. She could move if it really bothered her.

An opening phrase was put to the first notes. A second was added to the response. A refrain was born around five AM. By seven he had a song.

…

Natasha had hailed a cab from the airport, not wanting to make Clint brave traffic during morning rush hour. She came back to his place to find him slumped at the piano, face pressed into the keys. There was a note taped to his back in what she recognized as Kate’s handwriting.

_This dumbass stayed up all night writing you a song. I fed and walked Lucky before I left this morning. Clint owes me for the airfare. – Kate_

Natasha took the staff paper from the piano and scanned it, smiling at the lyrics and the sweet roaming melody. She picked up his acoustic guitar and began figuring out the chords. With a gentle strum she began singing his song:

 

_These days I’m just a little bit lost here_

_These days I’m just tryin’ to get through_

_These days I’m just counting the seconds_

_Until I see you_

 

He woke up, eyes blinking heavily at the sudden light. Nat smiled but went on.

 

_‘Cause you fill in every corner of my life_

_And you fill up every thought in my mind_

_You wake up with that smile of sunlight_

_And I’m no longer blind_

 

His voice was rough from sleep but he joined her.

 

_You fill up my senses_

_Like Denver said you would_

_I’d heard all the love songs_

_But never knew they felt this good_

 

_‘Cause you fit in to my arms to sweetly_

_And you whisper how much you love me_

_You take my hand and lead me out into our life_

_And kiss me tenderly_

 

And she did, leaning in to touch their lips together, feeling just as good as the first time. “I missed you too,” she whispered as she pulled back.

He just grinned and kissed her some more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for reading, commenting, bookmarking, and kudosing!!!


	21. December 21: Senses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 21 of the Clintasha Advent Calendar event on Tumblr

She knew it couldn’t be cologne or aftershave or deodorant or anything really that would leave a distinctive smell. He was a spy, same as her, so such things would be a hazard to their profession. But nevertheless, Clint Barton had a particular scent. It was woodsy, masculine, and so uniquely him that whether it be from up in a perch on a mission or across the room in the gym, she could seek him out with ease.

…

Growing up without much to eat meant taste was a luxury. If there was food available, he learned to eat it, taste be damned. But Natasha had been exposed to the finer things as part of her training and had developed a refined (if somewhat detached) pallet. She taught him _taste_ the difference between prime beef and pink sludge, between fine wine and bottom shelf effort, between real ethnic cuisine and salty American knock-offs. He still scarfed down pizza whenever available and didn’t turn up his nose at any form of free food. But he knew when pasta was overcooked, when there was too much spice, when bread was under baked.

He also knew the taste of her mouth of her skin of _her_. But he was selfish and kept those tastes to himself.

…

He was called Hawkeye for a reason; she knew this. His eyesight was beyond anything she’d ever thought possible, especially without any kind of enhancement genetically, medically, or mechanically. He could see a target from two buildings over, at night, in the rain. He could see the wings of a fly on the far wall from his couch while on pain meds for whatever bone of the month was broken. He could see the glint off a gun muzzle in the reflection of a stainless steel kettle.

But most importantly he could see her.

He saw her exhaustion and plea for a better life, for something more. He saw her fight against her programming. He saw her ledger and did everything he could to wipe out the red. He saw _her_ even when she didn’t know there was a _her_ to a seen.

…

It wasn’t so much emptiness as it was a nagging feeling something was missing. All those little sounds in the background like footsteps, clothes dryers, air conditioners, doors slamming from a floor down or above, running water while taking a shower or doing dishes, Nat’s breath during their work outs, the squeak of the cart wheel at the grocery store, they were all gone. It made everything feel like it was underwater. Unintelligible noises that were too muffled to be called sound.

Communication was the next hurdle.

He remembered some signs from when he’d lost his hearing as a kid, but more than one refresher course online was needed to bring his skills up to relative par.

But in the field it was rare that someone was going to know what his hands were saying.

Until Natasha learned it too.

…

They didn’t touch much. Their hands had been used as weapons from too early an age to be considered gentle. Touch was an invasion or a tool or a punishment.

But as they realized the similarity in their wounds, they learned that touch could be coordinated. A code. A firm hand on her neck with his bow-calloused fingers meant I’m here for you. A light press to his forearm meant come back to me. A linking of hands was their I love you. A kiss was a touch of trust.

And sometimes no touch at all was the best solution. Just close proximity that meant I’m here if you need me. Waiting but not pressuring. Just existing as your strength.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, guys!!! :)


	22. December 22: Hurt/Comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tender loving care...and spies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 22 of the Clintasha Advent Calendar event on Tumblr

For the first time in a long time, the tables were flipped. Usually it was Clint hobbling back to his SHIELD quarters with some manner of lasting injury. Usually it was Natasha trailing behind with meds and a glass of water and pillow from her bunk to camp out. But for the first time in a long time, it was her quarters they hobbled to and Clint following.

It had been an unstable wall, a collection of weathered bricks and soft mortar that couldn’t withstand one more blast. It had collapsed on her, trapping her left leg beneath plies of rubble. She’d tried to escape (and it was a good thing she did or else she’d be in a much worse state) but it had come down too fast for even her enhanced speed to avoid it completely.

She grumbled as she propped up her smashed leg – already it was healing, weaving the bones and sinew back together like her body was designed to do. She’d be out only a few weeks. But it was enough to drive her crazy.

Clint handed her the little orange bottle of pain meds. “I know you hate ‘em, but trust me, you’ll sleep better.” He gave her his signature soft smile. “I am the expert on this.”

She rolled her eyes but it was accompanied by a grin. Clint had seen his fair share of medical hold ups. He played it up some times as part of a joke. But it was a jest based in truth and it always made her heart ache a little to see him hurt.

She took two pills and swallowed them down with the water he handed over next. He slipped in beside her with his laptop and pulled up the next episode of _Dog Cops._

Nat pouted. “I don’t wanna watch that.”

“What’s it matter? You’ll be out in three minutes.”

She folded her arms over her chest, but he switched over to some new reality show about ice skaters. She watched his screen mesmerized by the movements of the skaters until they became blurry.

When she woke up from her drugged sleep, Clint was beside her, his own blanket wrapped around both of them and his pillow next to hers. He was sleeping, the rise and fall of his chest a steady indicator. She smiled softly and laid her head back down, nestling in closer to his warmth.

These next few weeks were going to be long, but with her partner by her side she figured she could get through it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to everyone for reading, commenting, bookmarking, and kudosing!! I love and appreciate you all very much!


	23. December 23: Stuck Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well someone had to test it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 23 of the Clintasha Advent Calendar event on Tumblr

Handcuffs were usually not a problem for Natasha. But leave it to Tony to make a pair she couldn’t escape

She wasn’t sure how it happened, just that one minute she’d been casually reading on the couch in the living area with Clint dozing off beside her, and the next they were strapped together at the wrist with some kind of self-tightening, metal-replicating, scratch and dent proof handcuffs.

“The metal responds to the trapped’s bio signature. You try to pull your wrist out, it gets tighter. You try to cut it off, it grows back. You try to break the chain, it adds a new link.”

“So how _do_ you get them off?” Nat demanded. Clint, now awake beside her, glared in agreement with her question.

Tony waved a hand. “Easy. They respond to my voice pattern and key word.” He cleared his throat. “Tony Stark.”

“You used your own name?” Clint questioned incredulously. But Natasha was more interested in the fact that she was still bonded to Barton.

“Stark?” She raised a brow.

Tony looked nervous. “Uh. Don’t panic.” He cleared his throat again. “Tony Stark.”

The metal remained.

Tony gave them a panicky grin. “Just a little bug. It’s a good thing I decided to test it on-”

“You didn’t know they would work!” Nat’s eyes blazed.

Tony put up his hands. “They should! I don’t know why they’re not…I’ll have to run some tests.”

“So help me, Stark.” Nat leapt up, dragging Clint with her.

Tony scampered back a few steps. “I’ll have them off by tonight, Romanov. I promise.” And with that he left for his lab, tossing over his shoulder, “Stick around. I may need you two to come down to the lab soon.”

Once he was gone, Natasha turned to Clint to find him smiling lightly. “What?” she inquired cautiously.

“Nothing, just, reminds me of Lebanon.”

Nat scoffed. “We were out of those in less than a minute.”

Clint smirked. “I was actually referring to the pair we used _after_ the mission.”

Nat bit her lip recalling the evening. She crowded Clint’s space, placing her free hand on his chest. “Feel like doing a reenactment?”

Clint grinned and wrapped his arm around her waist. “Think the sight will scar Tony and teach him not to try his tech on us ever again.”

“I think it’s definitely worth a try.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again, guys, for reading, commenting, bookmarking, and kudosing!!


	24. December 24: Free Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tis the season for acts of charity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 24 of the Clintasha Advent Calendar event on Tumblr.

Once upon a war in Europe, a group of battle-weary stragglers pick through the rubble. The Allies had taken this city only a few days back and there was talk of the war being over. An American soldier sat down on some stone debris with an MRE and took in the sight of wreckage before him. He’d seen so much hell the past year. So much hurt and loss.

A child wandered over to him, scrawny, dirty, wearing shoes with holes in them. The soldier remembered a time not long ago when he was barefoot, toes digging in the endless dust.

<Just a bite, sir?> the child asked, eyes begging. The soldier handed off the rest of his meal and added two cigarettes. <You can sell those,> he explained.

The child looked on in awe at the offering and nodded as if accepting an order. The soldier thought the kid too young to know anything about orders but he’d been smacked around enough himself to not believe it too much.

“That was very nice of you,” a voice stated from behind him. The soldier turned around to see a very beautiful red-haired woman dressed in a loose Russian Officer’s uniform.

The soldier shrugged. “I grew up hungry in threadbare clothes. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, much less a child.”

She sat down next to him and opened a pouch on her belt, producing a pack of cigarettes and offering him one. He took it and she lit it before getting one for herself. “It’s good to see some humanity.”

He scoffed. “Very little of that left over here.” He looked her over before clearing his throat. “Not to be rude, but I didn’t think a woman could be an officer.”

She raised a brow. “Maybe I’m just in disguise.”

The soldier smirked at that and let the issue drop. “I’m Clint, by the way. Clint Barton.”

“Natalia. Where are you from?”

“Originally Iowa. But I moved to New York a few years before I shipped out.” He took a drag. “You?”

She didn’t answer. It was a long time before either spoke again. Natalia asked, “Do you think I would like it there? In New York?”

Clint shrugged. “It’s not a bad place.” He paused a moment before pressing, “Do you need to go there?”

Natalia took a deep breath, finished her cigarette. “I’ll find out soon enough,” she muttered. She stood up suddenly and Clint stood with her. “Thank you for the company, Clint.”

“Likewise.” He stuck out his hand for her to shake but she kissed him on the cheek instead and disappeared into the fading sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, everyone!   
> I'd like to know which one of these has been your favorite. Let me know in the comments on today's post or tomorrow's if you want to leave some feedback. Thanks! 
> 
> Happy Holidays!


	25. December 25: Holidays (Christmas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas has changed through the years...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Day 25 of the Clintasha Advent Calendar event on Tumblr.

**1952**

Natalia threw chubby handfuls of snow up in the air, squealing with delight as it came down around her in little fluffy flakes. Her father laughed behind her, a big, booming laugh that seemed to shake the air around them. Natalia bent down to pick up more snow, happily tossing it about. She’d gotten a new pair of gloves that year from Ded Moroz along with a wooden horse figurine whittled by her father. The horse was in her pocket and the gloves being put to use in the newly fallen snow.

Her small feet stumbled over a snowdrift and she plunged into the cold white. It was scary suddenly, being surrounded by nothing but cold and ice. It was in her mouth, seeping into her lungs. She cried and hands plucked her from the ground and bundled her up close.

“<You must get used to the cold, little Natalia,>” a voice said. She thought it was her father but the memory didn’t seem right; he called her something else.

“<Run the simulation again,>” another voice announced.

Natalia felt hands on her and suddenly remembered it wasn’t a horse but actually a stag.

They made her believe it was a horse.

 

 

**1989**

Christmas in the circus was kind of…eclectic. Everyone came from somewhere different, had various traditions, even celebrated on different days. There were those who lit menorahs, others a Kinara, and others still who celebrated the Solstice. Some didn’t celebrate anything particular but picked a day to drink and be merry.

Clint had grown up with Christmas. His mother had always made sure he and Barney had something under the tree (even if it was only a pair of knitted gloves and an orange or apple). The various fosters homes had ranged from full Christmas dinners to frozen pizza and cigar smoke. So Clint didn’t really pitch in much when it came to commemorating the holiday. And this year he didn’t feel like celebrating at all.

Barney had left seven months ago. He’d joined the army, leaving Clint to fend for himself. Of course he had Buck and Jacques to look after him. But when he found them drunk off their rockers and counting money from a liquor store heist he’d helped on, serving as their lookout, he began to question just how well his looking after was being considered.

He went back to his trailer – one he shared with Murphy, an acrobat who’d gotten him addicted to the high wire – he noticed an envelope on the table. It was from the army and Clint got excited, thinking Barney had finally written back.

He cried when he read it.

Barney was dead.

 

**1998**

He picked at his nails absently. They were bleeding again with how short he’d gotten them. But the pain kept his mind on, active, living.

Solitary confinement.

He had no idea what the day or time was. The one blip of sound he’d gotten when his door was opened last resembled sleigh bells.

Christmas?

He bit at his cuticles and kept his eyes on the door. He wanted so badly for it to open. He needed it to. He’d been good. He hadn’t caused any trouble since going into confinement. He’d eaten his meals and done everything the guard had asked, cooperated when they transferred him to a cell across the hall. Something about needing to keep a closer eye on him. (It was only after they’d moved him had he realized the air duct had run above him. They’d thought he’d escape. But he didn’t. He was being _good._ )

 _Been an angel all year,_ the lyrics circled around his brain. _Better watch out, better not cry. So be good for goodness sake._

He _was!_ He was being so good and yet they wouldn’t open the door.

“Please,” he rasped. “Please!” Tears welled up in his eyes. “Please, let me out.”

 

Two weeks later the door opened and an unassuming man in a suit stood there with a manila folder tucked into his chest.

“Congrats, Barton. This suit’s here to bust ya out,” a guard explained.

Clint studied the man: thinning hair, brown eyes, an air of aloofness and a twinge of misbehavior.

He stood up, legs shaky from disuse and struggled over until he was right beside the man in the suit. His cologne smelled tastefully expensive yet a bit stale. Government.

“I can take it from here,” the man addressed the guard. He turned to Clint. “Not to be pushy, Mr. Barton, but I do have a lot of work to get done before Friday.”

The guard huffed. “Merry Christmas, Barton.”

 

**2003**

She’d been there eight months. Three had been spent deprogramming her, two interrogating her. The remaining three had been reserved to training and conditioning with her new partner.

Clint Barton was an interesting man. He didn’t seem to want any kind of reward for saving her life other than her doing well at SHIELD. He claimed there was no debt. Yet he kept a leger. She’s snuck a peek once and saw rows and rows of names in red and black ink. Lives he’d taken. Lives he’d saved. Taped to the inside cover was a scrap piece of paper with an address inked on it. She’d looked it up and found an abandoned house in some small Iowan town. She wasn’t sure which debt it went with, but it was obviously important.

She liked the idea of the ledger even if the notion that he kept one made her inexplicably sad and frustrated.

She bought a leather-bound journal from a shop that was having a sale because of the holiday season. She’s never been one for Christmas and the approaching date had slipped her mind. In the journal she tallied up the lives she’d lost and the ones she’s saved. The second column had painfully few in it.

Barton didn’t seem to give much consideration for the holiday as well, so when SHIELD let them have a few days off, they’d simply reserved more time in the empty gym.

She’d left her bag on the bench outside the locker room and went towards the showers. That must’ve been where he took it. Because the next time she opened the journal she found all the pages with red writing crossed out in purple ink. A note in familiar chicken scratch read:

They did this, not you. Merry Christmas. C.

 

**Now**

Tony’s party was extravagant, as expected. The decorations were expensive and tasteful, the food exquisite. But Natasha’s eyes were focused not on the festivities, but on her partner.

She’d seen him in a tux many times in the field but here, after Loki and SHIELD, and the war between Tony and Steve, here…

Well here he was. And she’d never seen anything better.

“Hi,” she greeted, sliding in to his side. His arm around her waist was a movement so natural it was like breathing.

“Hey,” he said back. “Glad to be by your side again.”

She hummed contentedly. It had been a long time since she’d seen him and touching him was too tempting to resist. Her rules about PDA flew out the window when he looked down at her, eyes so soft and begging and wanting and loving.

She kissed him.

It wasn’t their first kiss, not by a long shot.

But she realized this was their first on Christmas Day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU!!! Thank you so much, everyone, for reading, commenting, bookmarking, and kudosing! This has been a lot of fun for me and I hope you have enjoyed it as well. :) 
> 
> Drop me a comment with which one of these was your favorite. I might expand/continue/redo it as its own thing. 
> 
> Thanks again. Happy Holidays! (And for those who are celebrating, Merry Christmas!)


End file.
